


me & the devil

by godslayer



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Multi, Not beta'd we die like men, high key dubcon tbh, pin the trauma on the character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 22:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godslayer/pseuds/godslayer
Summary: I was just supposed to be another engineer, maybe at the nuclear plant if I got lucky.But the games had a different plan.





	me & the devil

**Author's Note:**

> the au is, tl;dr the 74th games were normal and the everdeens basically don't exist. yes i know it sounds dumb but this is an entirely self indulgent fic so ya gal don't care.

My pager wakes me, beeping incessantly until I reach over and pick it up. The pager knows - sending a signal across the wireless that I’ve moved it - which is promptly reported back to the dispatcher. I rise out of pure habit, checking my watch and then glancing over at Electra, who is still snoring in her bed. The triplet's beds are all still neatly made. They haven’t returned from their shift over at the dam. It must be bad. 

It’s barely four - I can hear Orion’s grumbling already. Orion, who is my partner in repairs, has been with me for six months now. All he ever does is complain, but I know exactly why. With his father being one of the plant owners here in Five, he was basically born to take over when his father passes the reins over. 

And he probably wasn’t expecting to be paired up with me when his father insisted he got some ‘hands-on experience’. Granted, I was in some of his classes before he graduated - I’d been bumped up a few years in science, but I’m leagues better when it comes to hands-on experience. What I’ve worked for, his father has basically handed to him.

Not that I had much choice in starting young. 

I’m dressed and out of the upper dormitory in a minute, my work boots are waiting for me in my box beside the door. My sock-clad feet pad down the stairs, past the lower dormitory, where the girls under fifteen sleep. Twelve girls, between ten and fourteen, are sleeping. Or, they’re all incredibly good at faking it. 

But with Mother Frye around, we all got pretty good at pretending. My shoes aren’t hard to get on - I’m well practiced at this routine, I’ve been an on-call engineer for three years. I take my card from one of my fleece’s inner pockets and scan it over the door lock, and it buzzes as it lets me out. Mother Frye has probably already received the notification: I’ve been called to work.

Which is sort of typical for today. Our plant isn’t built for constant, long term energy expenditure that the Capitol must be using tonight. We’re more of a backup. I’d love to work at one of the five main plants, but I have to sludge through the ranks at Soler. I’m already miles ahead of anyone else, Orion is eighteen, even with a leg up from his father, he’s not on my level, and I’m two years younger than him. 

But there’s a problem, and my job is to fix it. Not to dwell on possibilities. The present is hungry. 

The streets are cold - the sky is clear, displaying a slight twinkle of the stars as the light pollution from the Capitol oozes over the horizon. 

Of course today, of all days, would be the night we struggle to keep up with demands. The day of the Reaping and the beginning of the summer holidays in Panem. Not that holidays are something I’m familiar with, being on-call and all, but we’re taught the schedule of every other district from the early years. We have to know, so we’re prepared. 

The Capitol gets the most power, then Three, then One, then Two, and the rest go straight from Four to Twelve in order. I will likely be working until three and our Reaping begins at four. I should have just enough time to shower and dry my hair. My best clothes aren’t anything fancy - a sleeveless white shirtdress we’ve all been gifted by the Mayor for being orphans. 

The least anyone can do for our suffering is clothe us. 

The trams aren’t running right now - all of our power is going to the Capitol and keeping the plants running. The other districts - even our own - melt away when something goes wrong. 

Instead of walking, I check my laces and take off in a sprint. I’ve always been keen on running - I was a memo runner before I turned eleven, when the system fails and one plant is out cold, someone has to keep communications going. 

“Nova!” Rusty, our gatekeeper calls as he spots me. There aren’t many other girls around here - much less girls as small as I am, and Rusty has always been keeping an eye out for me. Too easy to get sucked in to the male power play, he says. “Head on through. Orion’s not in yet.” 

Like always, I’m not surprised. I head upstairs immediately, hightailing it to the office to find out where I’m needed. I’m barely through the door before I’m given orders. 

“Generator two in Sector Six. It’s nearly over, as of -” Mr Soler checks his watch. “- seven minutes ago. Tell me why.” He picks up a walkie-talkie from his desk, tossing it to me gently. “I’ll tell Orion when he gets here.” 

Which is a loose translation for ‘Don’t tell anyone my useless son is late.’ 

I nod and take the stairs down to Sector Six, humming to myself as I descend lower into the chaos of our plant. 

It takes me a few more strides once I’m on the right floor to find the right sector and then, generator two is right in front of me, hissing as she produces an alarming amount of smoke. 

And Orion is nowhere to be seen. 

I’ve done repairs like this hundreds of times, it would be nice to see him finally do one himself. But his absence also means I can enjoy a little privacy with one of our grumpier machines, so I place my bag down and walk over. 

“What’s gotten you all in a twist, gen two?” I mutter, tapping on the tablet attached to her so I can run diagnostics. “Oh, that’s not good, that’s not good at all.” 

My walkie talkie buzzes in my toolbag as Mr Soler’s gruff voice comes through. 

“Orion’s on his way. Just got out of bed. Over.”

I pick up the walkie talkie and hold it to my lips. 

“Copy that. We need to ice gen two. Over.” 

“Copy that. Sending the boys down. Over.” 

Trent and Avin, the two men responsible for keeping this place at a bearable temperature, are also the only ones who are allowed to use the icebox. Avin arrives first, carrying two of the large panels for the icebox. 

“Trent’ll be a mo. How you holding up?” He asks as he prepares the panels around gen two.

“I’m alright. Only two more years after this, right?” I say, not really bothering to put any emotion into it. The Reaping is just another fact of life - something we live with here in Five. We all live with it, through all the Districts, but my chances are better than most. 

Since the orphanage takes care of our food, our clothes and lodgings, what little I get from work goes in a hole under the floorboards and I don’t even have to apply for tesserae. Hardly anyone does actually apply here, and the pool of possible tributes is so large, five slips with my name on are nothing. 

“Yeah. You start specialising this September, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I don’t know which one to go for.” 

“Nuclear is always the coolest, Nova.” 

“And yet they let us use it so rarely,” Orion says from the stairs. Of course he would be here to ruin the moment. “No point in learning how to repair a machine we’ll never have.” 

“Buzzkill,” Avin says with a chuckle as Trent follows Orion down the metal staircase. 

Only one plant even has the authority to dabble in nuclear power and the odds of being promoted there are spectacularly low. Or at least, they are for Orion. He’s already graduated and has specialised. I haven’t, and my grades are good enough to get me into the nuclear programme. The one that takes less than ten students a year. 

We’re silent Trent and Avin surround the generator with the ice panels and flick them on.

“So,” Orion says, turning to me. “You nervous?” 

I already know what he’s talking about. He’s out - home free and safe from the inevitable death that would await him in the Arena. But I still have two years of potential Games to live through. 

I swallow the nerves that bubble up. Now isn’t the time for something like emotions. I have a job to do, and I’m sure as hell not letting feelings get in the way. 

“Nope.” I say, popping the p a little too hard. I check my watch and then the tablet for the core temperature. 

“Really?” He asks, and I can hear the judgmental raise of his eyebrow. 

I whip my head around to glare at him, my voice so clipped even Avin takes a step back. “Really. There’s thousands of kids here.” 

I refuse to answer his interrogation of questions as the generator cools and once it’s down to a touchable temperature, I’m already wrenching parts out to fix it, throwing them on the floor behind me with reckless abandon. I have the debris out in record time and after brushing the dust off the parts I threw away, it’s nearly as good as new. Certainly good enough to return to the lineup. 

I’m heading up the stairs two at a time - a feat for my short legs - and Orion is gaining on me in seconds. 

“Look, Nova, I’m sorry.” He says, pulling me to a halt. 

“No you’re not,” I snarl back, so feral I’m not sure if the voice is mine, “You just like to push buttons and you don’t care who you hurt. So leave me alone.” I wrench my wrist out of his grip, storming back up to the top office where his father is leaning over his desk, face illuminated by a lonely lamp. 

“Solo repairs.” I demand, slamming the door shut behind me, right in his son’s face. 

“Nova… you can’t just storm in here and demand things,” Mr Soler says, carefully folding the file in front of him. 

“I’m not working with Orion today.” I say through gritted teeth. Mr Soler looks up behind me, where his son is stood behind the glass door. 

“Fine. There’s a few problems with power cables in the square. Repair those before noon and you can go early.” 

I grab the tablet he’s offered me and scan through the list of jobs, transferring it over to my PDA with a few taps. 

“I’ll have it done by eleven.” 

* * *

It’s twelve twenty three by the time I’m back at the community home. I’m showered in ten minutes, and my hair is dry in fifteen. The Reaping isn’t until later, but with the girls from the lower dormitory to wrangle, I need to be ready first. 

Kitty pulls a brush through my hair now that it’s dry, not that it would matter much. I’ve spent so much of my life with my hair pulled up and back, I don’t think it knows what a tangle is. But the act of taking care of me is something that calms the shake in her hands so for today, I let her. 

In my eleven years at the community home, Kitty has been there for six of them. At ten, she’s the same age I was when she joined. Only two more years until she can be Reaped herself, but she’s safe. For now. 

“There,” she says triumphantly, pulling my waves over one shoulder. I can see myself in the mirror - I look miles away from who was this morning. I carefully pin Kitty’s hair into a fancy looking bun - not that it matters much, but if I’m going to be toting her to Reapings, I need to get good at doing her hair. She has the most beautiful hair, long red locks that reach the small of her back. 

The alarm blares, interrupting our moment and we head downstairs to put on our shoes. All of us at the community home have the same outfit for Reapings - a clean, white shirtdress that only comes out once a year, white socks with a little frill at the ankle and black loafers, which are then handed down to another when a girl leaves. I see no shame in wearing it, I didn’t get put here by choice, but when school starts again, we’ll all be called the Community Home Ghosts by the other children. 

“Girls,” Mother Frye says in the doorway, her voice booming over the warning siren. “Girls, go with Electra and Nova. Young’uns, with me.”

I nod, falling into step alongside Electra. Last year we had to show a few of the younger girls what to do, and with the triplets still missing, we’re on chaperone duty. 

Kitty, who is carefully holding onto my hand, grips it a little tighter as we round the corner to the square. 

“Go with Mother Frye,” I say quietly, before kissing her forehead. She obeys, although the fierce look in her eyes tells me she’d rather not, and I head towards the identity check. A quick prick of my finger and I’m ushered off towards all the other sixteen year olds, who are looking at me in disgust. Electra has already been absorbed into the pack of seventeen year olds behind us, telling whoever will listen that her and mayor’s son spent the night together. 

I’ve already heard the details of every encounter between her and Jolt Maddox and how he’s promised to marry her. Several times. 

But with her looks, she could go anywhere. And she has - straight into the arms of the Mayor’s son. Literally everyone wants her, with her long brown hair and her usually angelic temperament. 

She quietens down for the Reaping to begin, where her future father-in-law recounts the history of the Dark Days, shows us an old video of the war, where the thirteenth District was destroyed, and announces this year’s Mentors. I can barely hear him as I catch the eye of Nicolai Lu, our most recent Victor, from the 72nd Games. His dark hair is pulled back into some sort of half-up, half-down do, a look that’s miles away from who we see around town. Beside him is Dahlia Nieves, who won before most of us eligible for the Reaping today were born. 

Despite his shaggy hair, Nico is still as attractive as he was when I shared a desk with him in Physics and I can’t help but remember my childish crush on him all those years ago. 

I’m surprised to see him here - he wasn’t on mentor duty last year. Coile, one of our earlier Victors was. Something must’ve happened. 

My ears, hot from Nico’s gaze, zone back in to Mayor Maddox’s speech. “Please help me welcome our Escort, Ruby Leclair, who will select our lucky Tributes!” 

Ruby hobbles forward in her towering crimson heels, clutching on to the microphone for dear life. 

Her strange Capitol accent stretches her words as they leave her mouth. 

“Yes, it is a pleasure to be selected for the games.” Her painted lips curve in an attempt at a smile. “Without further ado, ladies first.” She crosses the stage, precariously balanced in her heels and she fishes out a slip of paper. My heart thuds as she returns to the microphone, the slip in her manicured hand. 

The calming mantra Avin taught me rings through my head. _ My name is only in there five times. I’m fine. I’m safe. _

_ My name is only in there five times. I’m fine. I’m safe. _

“Congratulations -”

_ My name is only in there five times. I’m fi - _

“Nova Sharpe!” 

Dread fills my stomach as the girls part to let me through. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t part of the plan! I was supposed to finish school, graduate top of my class and work in the nuclear plant -- this wasn’t part of the plan!

One of the girls behind me gives me a shove, pushing my feet into action, carrying me towards the stage. Ruby beckons me up, ever so chatty, but all I can see is the blood red color of her talons - her hair, her heels. I think I’m going to throw up. She has me stand beside her as she says something to the crowd. The silence screams and she quickly moves to the other glass ball, pulling out a slip with a flourish, reading the name with careful precision. I don’t even process the name, but I’m drawn out of my daze as there’s some commotion from the girls. 

“Wait!” A voice screams, “Wait! I volunteer!” 

My eyes refocus on the disturbance, a ripple of loose brown hair attempts to fight out from between Peacekeepers. Electra. 

Ruby chuckles at the mic. “Don’t be silly, darling. Girls can’t volunteer for boys.” 

I watch out of the corner of my eye as a tall ginger boy makes his way up to the stage. The pit in my stomach blooms as I realise who it is. Jolt’s face is stoic as he mirrors my position. 

“Any male volunteers?” Ruby asks as Electra is wrangled back into the pen with the other seventeen year old girls. It doesn’t surprise me that nobody steps forward for him - Jolt may be the mayor’s son, but I can’t think of a single person who would willingly die for him. 

Ruby steps back and the mayor, whose face is now a sickly shade of green, steps forward and recites something, motioning for us to shake hands. I quickly wipe mine on my dress before offering it to Jolt. 

His grip is unbelievably strong - squeezing, constricting - but his intentions are clear.

I’m no idiot. 

I can read between the lines. 

He means to make it out of this thing. But that’s ok. I don’t stand a chance against him - he’s got two years on me, at least fifty pounds and at least half a foot. If it came down to it, the vice-like grip he has on my hand could just as easily be around my throat. 


End file.
